


White flowers

by HolyEmpress



Series: The psyqualia Miwa collection [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This piece is a follow-up to my other works within this alternate canon - in which Miwa ended up awakening to psyqualia as well, letting it eventually overwhelm him completly. I don't exactly know in which order I'll be posting pieces from this collection, considering they are very much scattered within my computer, but well...<br/>It's a deeply personal work and something I'm proud of, and I hope you (dear reader!) will find some interest in it. It's mostly about enjoying a situation in which the power reversal in complete, in which Kai is a genuine victim and Miwa an antagonist.<br/>Or, well, you could also describe it as angst-ridden romance, but I kinda ended up taking myself too seriously trying to actually write this /well/ along the way?</p><p>Read at your own risks though !<br/>To expend on the warnings, it's about : an obviously abusive relationship, physical violence, self-hatred as a recurring thema. I also write fluff so if you feel like this isn't for you... don't be afraid to skip it, I have plenty of good, harmless Kaimiwa for you o.</p>
    </blockquote>





	White flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a follow-up to my other works within this alternate canon - in which Miwa ended up awakening to psyqualia as well, letting it eventually overwhelm him completly. I don't exactly know in which order I'll be posting pieces from this collection, considering they are very much scattered within my computer, but well...  
> It's a deeply personal work and something I'm proud of, and I hope you (dear reader!) will find some interest in it. It's mostly about enjoying a situation in which the power reversal in complete, in which Kai is a genuine victim and Miwa an antagonist.  
> Or, well, you could also describe it as angst-ridden romance, but I kinda ended up taking myself too seriously trying to actually write this /well/ along the way?
> 
> Read at your own risks though !  
> To expend on the warnings, it's about : an obviously abusive relationship, physical violence, self-hatred as a recurring thema. I also write fluff so if you feel like this isn't for you... don't be afraid to skip it, I have plenty of good, harmless Kaimiwa for you o.

It takes him by surprise.

(Again.)

(Everything Kai does is a surprise, even now.)

 

The box is sitting nicely on the kitchen's counter, next to a modest bouquet of bright yellow jonquils highlighted by scarce white lilies, and it's so undoubtedly him that it hurts, because it's almost too sweet. He caresses the flower petals, somehow reluctant to open the red, heart-shaped box, enjoy the fragile, delicate feeling under his fingers. It reminds him of Kai's cheeks – of Kai's tears, and wonders if there's a meaning behind his choice. He'd expected something for Valentine's day, but nothing like this, and somehow, he thought, a bouquet of blood red roses would have been a more accurate depictions of their relationship, but Kai never went the obvious way, so white and yellow flowers it was. Something, deep inside in, wants to laugh at it – and something else prevents him from doing so.

There's a note tied to the box. The handwriting is messy, almost as if Kai had tried to write it without his glasses on – a stark contrast to the fancy paper he'd used. It takes him a few seconds to make sense out of the inintelligible scribbles before he feels the urge to tear up the note, biting in lips in the process.

It's frustrating.

He opens the box of chocolates, quickly stuffs a few of them into his mouth, and chews hastily before spitting into the trashcan. The taste is nothing short of amazing, sugary and rich, with hints of fruit – and it doesn't wash off, even after he tries to get rid of it with water from the kitchen sink. His tongue still remembers the subtle flavours – maybe, because it makes it so painfully obvious how hard his boyfriend had worked to give him something nice, _for once,_ he adds in his mind.

It's all he had ever dreamed off, back when he was still weak and hanging onto Kai's slightlest signs of affections. The word « romantic » crosses his thoughts, tainted with painful irony.

Countless times, he'd asked Kai for romance, never meaning it – because it was a beautiful euphemism for devotion.

 

But « that type » of romance was disgusting. He'd never hold hands willingly with Kai, never give him any good-morning kiss that wouldn't be hateful and poisonous, so there was no point in white lilies and jonquils.

 _No meaning to I love you's_ – he shares the remainder of the box with Ren over breakfast. The redhair is cheerful as ever, making plans for the afternoon, humoring him with endless energies, but he doesn't respond to his questions. Yes, maybe they'll go shopping in designer stores this afternoon – he doesn't really care. The uncomfortable feeling is still lingering, on his lips and behind his eyelids, like bright sunlight. Rays of gold and white.

_Thanks for staying by my side,_

_I love you._

Packing for school is a tedious process as the words repeats in his head.

 

 

 

It takes a while to find him. He's not in his usual spot in class – his empty chair, rather, is another symbol of the time they'd spent together and the habits that had started to develop. Kai's grades had been dropping rapidly in the past few weeks ; he was barely scrapping by anymore, doing even worse than during the Asia Circuit period, and the continental tournament had had him missing months of lessons back then, which was definitly cruel considering his attendance rate had actually gone _up_ recently. A few teachers had been suggesting additionnal lessons to make up for his failures, an offer he knew the young boy had accepted – to get away from him.

But still, the course material couldn't get into his head, no matter how hard he tried, _because he was already there, wrapped around his every thoughts_.

Maybe he was ruining Kai's future, it occurs to him as he waits inside of the infirmary. The nurse gives him another smile, one he politely answers. She had been more than happy with his visit, sharing her worries regarding his poor, sickly boyfriend, and thoroughly questioning him about his injuries. He'd invented some quick lies, a heartfelt stories about the fights Kai had gotten in, _I cannot stop him when he gets mad, he just goes berserk,_ and surprisingly, she seemed to believe him, no matter how absurd the details he was giving her. It was almost painful to paint Kai such a dirty, mischevious persona. As if I could even get into fights anymore – all he did was weep, pathetic and weak, every time Ren's fist met his face, and his stories didn't do justice to the pain he heard in his cries nowadays.

 _That ugly wound above his eyebrow reopened this morning,_ she mentions after a while, with a sadened expression he tries his best to mirror.

He remembered it quite well, could almost see it again ; it was another one of his « sessions », the time he requested to have Kai for himself. He'd blindfolded him again and tied his wrists to the bedpost, to switch things around a little. Having his hands tied behind his back had gotten somewhat boring, because it only encouraged him to close off – to bend over, trying to avoid contact, to never touch him outside of his requests, while the bedpost solution had him with arms spread out, unable to run away. Sometimes, he didn't do anything to him once he'd gotten in this state, just putting on some music and making small until the late hours of the night, taking advantage of the fact that Kai lost all sense of time as long as he kept him in the dark.

That day, he hadn't done nothing, but not exactly _much_ either – just sitting above his boyfriend's motionless body and gently caressing his face, appreciating his beautiful features and the chills running up his arms every time he'd touched his skin. He felt no desire to order him around, simply enjoying the fact that he had him, for himself, _forever,_ as long as his psyqualia would allow him too.

But then, he had left a single kiss on his forehead – and somehow, Kai had gotten panicked again, enough to hit his head again the bedpost in his struggle, opening a long, bloody wound above his eyebrow.

 

He had left him on his own to bleed for a few hours before untying his wrists. It was a childish decision – one he'd almost regretted, but his prideful heart wanted to punish Kai for reacting violently to his innocent kiss.

(To keep on pretending it wasn't his fault for traumatizing him repair, his _beloved_ Kai, his _boyfriend_ ).

 

 _You can go see him now_ , the nurse invites him when the bell rings noon, _you two can have lunch together,_ she adds, putting two pre-heated microwavablee meals into his hands. He nods, giving her his best expression of gratitude, no matter the spite in his heart. Jonquils and white lilies – were flowers who belonged next to hospital beds, not onto kitchen's counters on Valentine's day morning.

\- It's room service, he singsongs, entering the infirmary's bedroom.

His boyfriend doesn't look good when he realize it's _him._

It makes him feel betrayed – after all, if he _loved him_ as much as he pretended to, he wouldn't be shaking right now. However, he notices, the small shine in his teary eyes, that seems so close to an expression of joy. Kai was rarely joyful, even when he didn't feel threathened, and he'd seen him smile sincerely on very few special occasions. During the few consensual things they'd done together, when he cooked, that one time he'd taken him to a cat cafe to get him to stop tensing up so easily – then, Kai had smiled.

But that was pretty much it.

Yet, his eyes were smiling, contradicting his body, his faltering hands, his slightly parted lips, unable to utter a word, and he couldn't help but wonder, how one could be happy and terrified all at once like he was, but it's pointless to try to figure it out. That, and he's still mad about the jonquils, the chocolate, and the card.

\- I didn't think you would hide from me again after what you did, he declared sternly, handing Kai his food and sitting himself on the chair next to him.

 

His boyfriend manages to smile – a smile sadder than the one he'd seen for a few seconds in his eyes, one that has to go through all of his pain and fears to come through. He recognizes guilt in his behavior too, because he knows Kai's guilt more than anyone, and it didn't look anything like pure, white flowers. When Kai felt responsible, slowly, he beginned to wilt away – small details, his skin, paler than usual, his head, tilted down, his body, even weaker, more weary than usual were enough for him to realize and start to wonder, how he had felt.

Writing these scribbly, messy, _sincere_ words on the silky paper.

 

As if they weren't going to be consequences to his confession – actually, he was almost sure that Kai was aware of the danger he was putting himself in, going for such a bold move. Everything he'd done of his own free will had been followed by a cruel sanction. He had had him licking dirt of the floor, once, his shoes firmly maintining his head on the ground, just because he could, just because, he was a king as much as he was a capricious child when it came to him, to _his_ Kai.

Kai expected to be beaten down to a pulp, probably, for his daring jonquils. All he had done by himself in this room, was to wait for the inevitable to happen.

Maybe he'd even reopened that wound on his own, because he wasn't brave enough to face him anymore.

(He remains silent, and he knows his pain doesn't go away, no matter what.)

\- I didn't bring this food to have you not eat it either, you know, he comments, falsely annoyed.

 

Kai puts the plate onto his overbed table, unwraps the plastic cutlery, and, slowly, takes the first bite out of his vegetables – it's a pitiful display, especially for someone who loves cooking so much. His boyfriend cuts his carrots into the smallest portions he can make, and, even then, seems to have trouble swallowing anything. He knows it's the anxiety – the knots of fear, in his stomach – that are responsible for this, but he still wants to shake him, to make him snap out of it, even if it's impossible.

Something about this was familiar – Kai, gulping down a microwavable meal with great difficulty reminded him of _those_ times, when he had been invited over by a shallow, ghost-like version of his boyfriend, _I won't ever forgive myself for Link Joker, Miwa,_ whispered, between two bites of those disgusting lasagnas from the supermarket, before they'd resume playing Mario Kart together.

Kai was weak.

 

He'd come to accept it – which is why the chocolates were so upseting. He wasn't in a state to pull off something like this, and every circumstance was against him, leaving him to wonder about the way he had managed to find a quiet kitchen, to find time, too, to make those near-perfect chocolates and buy a sophisticated bouquet.

The questions make him feel uneasy, because weak people's bravery – had something beautiful about it, like a smile in teary eyes, fighting for a cause already lost, for a reason already forgotten.

 

\- You owe me an explanation before I reopen your _other_ wounds, he says when Kai moves onto his dessert.

His boyfriend's eyes widen in shock for a second – he drops his fork, which makes a small plastic noise as it falls on the ground. He watches the fingers from his shaking hand grasp onto the overbed table, and his head move away from him, trying to look away.

Kai's terror was always quiet – an attempt to disappear from the present, so he simply decides to pick up the fork and gently unclench his boyfriend's fingers. It's a tedious process – he knows, that Kai is afraid of his touch, tensing up at the slighlest hint of force in his motions – and a full minute until he's holding onto the fork again.

«  _You're pitiful_ » he whispers, not sure that Kai can hear it.

 

\- I just want to understand, he tries again, why you would do this. I don't care about chocolates. I won't leave you alone just for a bunch of _jonquils,_ so why ?

\- It's because…

 

It comes off as a surprise to see him cry.

Everything Kai does is a surprise, even now. Because he knows him too well, so every unexpected change – throws him off, and forces him, to reevaluate what he values so much about his boyfriend. Seeing his tears flow, again, is a challenge, somehow. He had thought to have finally learned what Kai's crying felt like, but the usual shaky cascade sounds like a peaceful river now, and he's unsure why it seems as if Kai is giving up on something important. There's a many _why_ 's he's never dared to ask before, caught up into his schemes, but it didn't mean they had not been there, in the back of his mind. Why would he bear such pain – why would anyone be willing to go so far when they cared so little. He'd prepared himself to answer the school's headmaster, the police, even, but Kai remained oddly silent and docile, and it wasn't the docility he'd beaten into him, but something else.

A willingness to suffer for reason unknown – to frustrate him further and further until he'd feel that curiosity again, that curiosity named _caring_ and, for sure, he cared about him now. He had the right to.

It didn't make him less strong – to be surprised that Kai would cry at such a simple request, and to be unable to keep his eyes off Kai's peculiar pain, studying every detail of his suffering, almost obsessively, _looking for a sign,_ or just because he, too, could love things, could entertain interests.

Like he loved chocolates – in particular the ones with the fruity aftertaste, but no one seemed to ever get the balance right, between the cacao flavor and the sweetness of the fruits, so he only ate them on rare occasions.

Like he loved flowers, too – because his heart could get drunk on the smells and the bright colors and forget about everything, for a second, absorbing the sun in the blooming fields, before his worries came back.

 

\- Because I love you, Kai finally manages.

He's still choking and crying and in audible pains, but the words are there, and hit like a strong blow to his heart.

\- And why do you love me ? He answers immediatly, to retaliate.

 

 _Why would you ever love me ?_ Is the question he genuinely wants to ask. It's acidic and tearing up his insides, like it had been doing so for – as long as he've known him, for what he knows, but unlike Kai, he had no plan to cry about it ever again. Some years ago, it would have hurt harder, because he'd talked himself into accept it, the fact that his best, old friend couldn't feel a thing, not attachment, and much less love, toward his sad, worthless self – but now, it was only a dull pain, like a knock at the back of a door he'd closed long ago.

Kai couldn't love him sincerely – Kai could barely even _love,_ so _why,_ of all things, would he have chosed to love him ? Such fantasies were only fitting for delusional kids.

 

And if Kai couldn't even love him because he was _strong_ , then really, he had to stop looking for reasons and just enjoy that small bliss he could get out of his submission and the game of pretending. He always came close – close to what he wanted. They went out on dates, and Kai kissed him, Kai held his hands, almost, but not quite in the way he'd imagined dating his life-long crush would be.

But that valentine morning was exactly it.

 _Exactly_ what being loversfelt like.

 

 _Because you're you_ , Kai finally enunciates clearly, with a beautiful, sun-filled smile, so bright he can almost the rainbow – the tears, and the shiny smile, melting into one sincere feeling. Gratefulness.

Love.

It _really_ was love.

 

\- You're horrible, he protests.

\- Thanks for staying by my side in spite of that, then.

 

It's an awkward ten seconds he spends staring at the person he'd tortured for months with watery eyes – more frustrated than he'd ever felt in his life – to capture the uniqueness of Kai's beauty, Kai's everything, his oddly straight nose, the bumps in his soft brown hair and the grace of his hands laid on the overbed table, in a strange, graceful pose, as if he was posing for the memory.

He knows he should have slapped him moments ago, but simply can't.

 

_Because you're you, as well._

 


End file.
